"My Only Friend"
Walking on fallen branches, withered leaves, and the decaying imprints of long-fallen plants, a burly stranger prowled; silhouetted in patches of sunlight which had broken through the semi-permeable barrier of the looming trees above. In his scarred, darkened left hand he carried a box; dark and plain. It bore no etchings, no marks of significance, and no attachments of interest save for a cheap five dollar padlock. The man tread with elegance borrowed from felines, though his facial features bore no sign of ill intent. Instead they bore the wispy liquid trail of sorrow. From his chin fell streamlined drops of salt water which bombarded the dried and dehydrated plantations below. He wept silently, and oft had to brush away wet portions of dark curly hair which had begun to seclude his thin, angular face. With the right sleeve of his worn trench coat, the man wiped away his tears.
This sudden flare of emotion did not slow him and he instead pushed forward to a location planted in his mind; a rough patch of soil in front of a large sycamore. He had met someone here, or something, whichever seemed appropriate. He stopped and knelt, placing the box carefully on the ground. He did not want to disturb that which lay inside.
From the immediate surrounding environment, he plucked many fascinating plants from their roots and placed it on top of the box; blue flowers, red flowers, yellow flowers, or maybe they were all pink? He had trouble distinguishing one color from another at times, and his headache was getting increasingly worse. He blinked, his vision blurring. The sorrow of losing a loved one was great, and he lifted a hand to shepherd away the newly forming tears. But surprisingly, there were none. He blinked once more. His vision did not improve. "Wh-wha-" he stammered, the words coming out with a high degree of difficulty. He blinked several times, fiercely, with increasing strength. He rubbed his eyes in a state of panic. "H-Help!" He cried, hoping to attract attention from people in the area. He began to sob, and this time tears formed for real. His vision was not improving and the world around him began to shake in a blend of feathery colours and halos. He fell to the ground, seizing, his body having lost control.
[Queue Opening Theme]
Short intro chappie, a precursor to the actual "episode". I will try to follow the general outline of actual House M.D. episodes and keep subsequent chapters/stories as in-character and as believable as possible. During the course of the story, new symptoms may/may not arise and if you can reach the diagnosis before the team can (A.K.A before I can write it out) then kudos to you. So feel free to make your guesses.